


A rainy night

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drugs, Mycroft is a good brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 03:51:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14685876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Mycroft's opinion on his brother's drug usage





	A rainy night

**Author's Note:**

> This is my 2nd fic ever so I'm not that good at this stuff yet, like no plot and I didn't proof read it soooooo...

It was about 12 am when he received the call. The rain thundering down on the windows as he got his brothers location from the authorities. 127 North Cranberry street was the location of the latest place the Detective Inspector had found Sherlock, high as a kite as always, surrounded by used needles and other junkies. The government worker got up, umbrella in hand and suit perfect as usual, to go collect his troublesome brother. “Why couldn't he just stay out of trouble?” Mycroft asked himself, “why must I care for him so much, caring isn't an advantage” the last phrase recited after being drilled into his head by himself in an effort to make him more into the Iceman he tried to be.   
Outside, an ominous black car was waiting outside and Mycroft got into it as quickly as possible to avoid as much of the rain as possible. He didn't like rain, it disheveled his appearance, but that didn't matter much right seeing tonight's destination. He and his driver didn’t converse, except for Mycroft to tell the address. The water sliding down the windows blurred the view of the London streets, making the view nothing more than blurs of colored light.   
Sherlock was always getting into trouble and his self diagnostics of being a sociopath and distancing himself from other people kept him from getting help. He didn’t like other people, their little minds infuriating (Mycroft couldn’t blame him there but at least his brother could try and pretend) and their day to day actions boring other than to dissect through deductions. Sherlock barely tolerated Mycroft, enough to let him help after he had an overdose.  
And then there were the drugs. Though Sherlock had insisted that he wasn’t addicted and could stop taking them whenever he wanted Mycroft begged to differ. With his little brother overdosing at least twice a month it was obvious that more than a little recreational use, anyone with half a brain could see that. No, he would die soon if he didn’t give into the help that Mycroft was trying to give. Though he didn’t show it, he really cared for his little brother, sending him to more than a dozen rehab centers, only for Sherlock to leave every single one to return to the streets again to get high. In the end Mycroft had given up, his little brother could be quite… well if he put his mind to something, there was nothing that was going to stop him.   
Mycroft had wanted him to get a job, maybe a “minor” position in the government like himself. His brother could be slow at times but it was nothing compared to the rest of the population of Great Britain. Anything was better of being an addict, even a detective as Sherlock now dreamed of. Maybe becoming a detective would be good for Sherlock Mycroft thought, he hadn’t really given much thought towards his brother’s career of choice, too busy with his own job. It would give his mind something, replace drug’s purpose. He would pull some strings to get his brother a job, maybe a paying job or just consulting for the Scotland Yard, whichever Sherlock wanted.   
The car suddenly stopped, letting Mycroft know that this was their destination. He got out and hurried into the building, thought covered by his umbrella he still wanted to get his brother as quick as possible. He deduced the building, abandoned for 10 years, in the hands of the government now, former store owned by private owner who died and no one took the property, at least 16 others here. The DI was standing just inside the door.  
“He’s over in the corner, he says he has something for you” the DI said almost questionatly. Mycroft offered no answers,  
“I can take him from here, thank you and good night, Gregory,” he dismissed. The grey haired detective gave one last look then walked away. Mycroft made his way over to the corner, doing his best not to step on anything (or anyone). Sherlock was exactly where the DI said, his curly dark hair that Mycroft was so jealous of messy. Not even bothering to deduce anything, he said   
“Hello brother dear, I’ll take that list,” he said with a voice of a trained politician, gently nudging his brother with tip of his umbrella. Sherlock held up a small piece of paper which Mycroft bent down to get, on it was barely legible handwriting. A list of the drugs Sherlock was currently high on.   
“Oh Sherley, we are getting you a job.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments?


End file.
